Bleeding Shackles
by strait-jacket
Summary: A first-timers attempt at a Star Wars fic. In a bleak corner of the galaxy, a world dominated by slavery and corruption is on the brink of civil war.


BLEEDING SHACKLES  
  
Chapter I  
  
"Remember," whispered Kahlor to his young companion, "the principle behind the hunt is the universal need for the dominance of the strong over the weak."  
  
The two huntsmen progessed slowly through the woods, their footsteps falling almost noiselessly despite the carpet of dry leaves and twigs scattered beneath them.  
  
"It is the natural order of things," he continued. "If those of us who possess power cannot use it to control those who are inferior to us, then chaos ensues."  
  
Their quarry was now only about a hundred metres away, a hundah, one of the ten-foot high carnivorous bipeds who inhabited the woods. Although their kind were camouflaged to deceive prey and predator alike, and it was true that most creatures would have fled from the towering beast, the predators that sought it today would prove to be among the most dangerous imaginable. It patrolled a small glade, perhaps ten metres in diameter, with two of its reptilian arms, tipped with long, sturdy digging claws, punching holes in the ground like a pneumatic drill, while the other two probed about within them. The rodents who inhabited the glade would provide little sustainance for the hundah, but as the drought in the surrounding fields had driven most of the larger game into seclusion, it would have to rely upon them for some time.  
  
Griffin, the younger of the two, was making a conscious effort to avoid being heard, as even the slightest warning would bring the odds in favour of the large reptile. He watched enviously as, a few feet ahead of him, Kahlor practically floated along the ground, directing his attention solely toward the beast itself. Closing to within some twenty yards, the two waited silently, hidden by the thick shrubs at the edge of the glade. While the hundah possessed remarkably keen hearing, its other senses, smell and sight, were fortunately poor. Kahlor and Griffin watched intently, both hoping that the creature would not turn to face them, with the younger man eagerly awaiting his mentor's lead.  
  
The sun shone into the glade, its beams of light showering through the wood's canopy to the floor below. A pair of rodents, glad of the sunlight and apparently unaware of the hundah, crept out into the open from within the hunter's cover. Suddenly aware of the presence of a potential meal, the hundah turned abruptly and leapt, from a standing start, ten metres to where the rodents had crept out. Moments later, both were skewered with a sickening crunch, as the hundah's claw-hands pierced them.  
  
Behind the shrub, the huntsmen waited patiently. The hundah sniffed the air about it, apparently sensing something, but it was clearly far from certain as to what lay around. Looking blindly through the shrub, it failed to see the motionless hunters, while all around there was seemingly lifeless woods.  
  
It made another abrupt turn, this time away from the hunters, and it was all they needed. Springing forth from the bushes, Kahlor drew his weapon, a golden light-sabre, and brought it to bear on the back of the hundah's neck. Griffin, moments later, used his own sabre to sever the beast's arms, a potential danger due to the hundah's tendency to run amok for some seconds after its slaughter.  
  
The mighty beast fell to the ground like the dead-weight it now was, its convulsive twitches the only remnants of its former strength.  
  
"You see now, my friend," said Kahlor, with his soft voice betraying a touch of pleasure. "This beast was great in terms of these woods, but you and I are great in terms of the universe." He swept his long, raven hair back with a gentle hand, and gazed down with his piercing brown eyes on the carcass. Flashing a brilliant white smile contrasted against his dark complexion, he took his sabre and used it to obtain the finest cuts of meat from the kill, then filled the two backpacks.  
  
Griffin smiled also, running his fingers through his fair hair in a manner similar to Kahlor, although his was cropped shorter, in the manner he preferred. He was marginally taller then Kahlor, and perhaps also marginally stronger, at least in physical terms. However, he had little doubt that, if a violent conflict arose between them, he would fight bravely, but nevertheless die quickly. He had seen Kahlor's skills with a sabre on many occasions first-hand, and held the utmost admiration for him, both as a warrior and teacher. And although Kahlor was only five years his senior, Griffin felt certain he could never be his equal in matters of lore or the manipulation of the force. Perhaps their most striking similarity was their eyes, of which it had been remarked on several occasions that they were absolutely identical, in both shape and colour, and gave the impression that they were brothers, rather than cousins. As the pair began the long journey back to their home city of Galrodnia, Griffin wished that, unlike their respective fathers, the two would remain, for many years to come, the greatest of friends.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Walking proudly through the alabaster gates of Galrodnia, Griffin and Kahlor, acknowledged the bows of the commoners who had been charged with sentry duty. The guards dared not meet the eyes of the passing jedi, their heads held low long after the pair had passed.  
  
"Have you ever wondered," enquired Griffin, "what they actually think of us?"  
  
"What does it matter?" replied Kahlor. "Their thoughts are inferior, unworthy of our consideration."  
  
"But surely they are capable of having an opinion?"  
  
"Do not trouble yourself with the opinions of the common-folk, my cousin. They are as insignificant as the very beast we just slew."  
  
"But do they fear us? Respect us?" Griffin paused. "Hate us?"  
  
"Again, my padawan, I implore you, do not trouble yourself. Keep your mind on those matters which we are capable of exploring and they are not."  
  
Griffin lowered his own head as more of the common-folk bowed by the roadside. Soon, however, his mind shifted from the minds of the commoners to his own stomach, and he began day-dreaming about the succulent hundah meat within his pack.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Ah, rulership is indeed grand," said Darth Sek to his son, Kahlor, as he picked up his fork. "Perhaps you should try it some time, hmm?"  
  
"Perhaps I shall, father," answered Kahlor, thoughtfully swallowing another mouthful of the delicious roast hundah.  
  
There was no significant occasion, and yet any outsider may have imagined this to be a great a feast of celebration. Seated about two long tables of obsidian, the kingdom's twenty most powerful jedi partook of the sumptuous meal in a spacious dining hall, which, like the palace itself, represented the pinnacle of Galrodnian architecture. At the head of one table sat the ruler of Galrodnia, Sek, the title of Darth, or "Lord", having been conferred upon him as a symbol of his situation. Twenty years earlier, he had been a physical paragon. His physical strength was immense, his speed lightning, and his mind potentially devastating. Over six feet in height, he was tall enough to be both elegant and intimidating, but no so tall as to appear awkward or ungainly, and indeed he strutted with the superior air of a man who ruled several systems. His limbs were akin to tempered steel, and it was rumoured that he could kill even a wookie using only his bare hands, but within there was a man whose humour and wit ruled his philosophy.  
  
That man was long dead. Many of his physical traits had lingered, although streaks of silver had now scattered themselves about his hair, and wrinkles had laid siege to his chiselled features, he was still a man of imposing strength and stature. However, his heart was lost, swallowed up and crushed by the weight of his crown. The smiling blue eyes were now like ice, and when he laughed, instead of laughing with him, one's first instinct was to shudder.  
  
Now he sat back in his throne, endeavouring to appear as though he enjoyed the atmosphere of the meal, when in fact, all he wanted was to be alone, to be rid of the subservient fools all around him. In reality, though he did not realise it, Darth Sek was already in many ways alone. Kahlor, seated at his right hand, observed his father's actions, his head swaying to the six-piece band's soothing rhythm, and his hands resting steepled on the table.  
  
Griffin, at the opposite corner of the room, also sat at his father's right hand. The brother of Darth Sek was Prince Alro'ur, and was in almost every way his the inferior of the two. He could never match his brother in either the jedi arts or in physical prowess. He was shorter, below the height of an average man, and although not ugly, could never be considered handsome. His small, round nose sat between two sky blue eyes that noticed, and watched, everything. He spoke little, and when he did, he spoke quietly, but was nevertheless commanding in his presence. The Prince rarely spoke with Sek, their brotherhood now merely a blood-tie. Sek despised his brother for his inferiority, and what he saw as his weakness, while Alro'ur could not bear his older sibling's arrogance and coldness. Griffin's eyes passed down the table to the other jedi, beings of several different races, and noted that all of those who were physiologically able to eat meat were clearly enjoying his kill.  
  
There were several other notable jedi, about both tables, each with skills worthy their place in the annals of history. Griffin knew he was here only by virtue of his bloodline, and that all those around him knew this. Notably, three seats down on his right sat Count Bloroc, his most blatant demurrer, and one of the six human jedi positioned around the dining halls. The count had worked his way up through the ranks, from a fledgling apprentice discovered on backwater Dantooine to one of the most feared and ruthless noblemen of the realm. He was, along with Darth Sek himself, the most rigid in following the lordship code of the jedi. Any common-folk who resisted jedi rule, and could not be readily coerced into to complying, were to be promptly executed. The count, a bearded, curly-haired man, had more the rugged appearance of a woodsman or moisture-farmer than that of an upper-class jedi - his appearance was indeed the only remnant of his humble beginnings; he had developed a supercilious attitude, the type peculiar to those who consider themselves untouchable. His narrow eyes met Griffin's gaze with contempt. They were too far from each other for words to pass between them, but Bloroc's frigid stare spoke volumes.  
  
The conversation in the room was sparse, and unnervingly so. Many of the jedi had premonitions of a great disturbance in the force, and although this particular night was not meant to be one of any occasion, there was a great deal of anxiety about the nature of this disturbance, and whether or not it would occur tonight. Only one of the men knew whether or not it would. 


End file.
